


i'm a sleepwalker

by sourwofls



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourwofls/pseuds/sourwofls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times stiles sleepwalked into the apartment of the hot fireman next door (and one time he accidentally set something on fire).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm a sleepwalker

**.one  
**   
Stiles wakes up and he isn’t in his bed anymore. For one, it’s too comfortable, and for two, there’s a muscular shirtless dude staring at him in horror from the doorway, soot smeared across one ridiculously defined cheekbone. Stiles jerks upright, blinks at who he is now recognizing as his stupidly hot neighbor, mutters out a “sorry!” and scuttles around him and out the door without another word. The whole time, hot firefighter neighbor doesn’t say a word.

Stiles spends the rest of the night staring at his ceiling in embarrassed shame.

**.two**

The next time it happens, Stiles wakes up laying on a solid chest. He pats it sleepily, then looks up. Hot Firefighter is staring at him, brow furrowed.

“How do you keep getting into my apartment?” He says, which is the exact opposite of what Stiles thought he was going to say.

“The balcony? I think? They’re connected.” Stiles mutters, frowning. He’s still patting at Hot Firefighter’s chest, which really is stupidly firm, until the man in question clears his throat, raising one thick eyebrow. Stiles flails, falling off of the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna – go back to my apartment, now.” He says, stiltedly, and Hot Firefighter nods.

“That would be wise.”

**.three**

The third time it happens, he finds out that Hot Firefighter is actually named Derek. Stiles wakes up and Hot Firefighter is standing over him, wearing sweatpants, a soft-looking shirt, and glasses.

“We have to stop meeting like this – I don’t even know your name.” Stiles says, weakly, aware that he’s snuggled into Hot Firefighter’s bed and not trying to get up at all. The man in question rolls his eyes.

“It’s Derek. And I would appreciate it if you stopped climbing into my bed.” He doesn’t sound mad though. Stiles would be able to tell if he was mad. (He’s pretty sure that Derek’s eyebrows just look like that.)

“I’m Stiles.” He says, untangling himself from the stupidly soft blankets. He stands, stretching, and sighs. “I really am sorry about this, dude. Maybe if you lock your balcony door…?”

“It doesn’t lock.” Derek says, frowning. “I called the landlord, but – “

“He’s useless.” Stiles finishes, sighing. “Same here. I don’t know if any of these doors lock.”

“I shudder to think what would happen if a criminal heard that.” Derek says, smirking. Stiles grins.

“I’ll get out of your hair. And by the way – name’s Stiles.” He waves awkwardly and leaves.

**.four**

The fourth time is the most awkward time to date, because Stiles wakes up and Derek is spooning him. There’s a muscled arm slung over his waist, and a stubbled cheek pressed against his neck. Stiles wriggles, and Derek grunts “go t’sleep,” like Stiles is being weird. Stiles shrugs, resolving to freak out in the morning, and goes back to sleep.

/x/x/x/x/x/

Stiles wakes up a few hours later to the scent of frying bacon. He follows his nose to the kitchen, where Derek is cooking. He could stop and admire the view, but instead he clears his throat.

“So. Cuddling?” He asks, smiling a little. Derek turns, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

“I figured as long as you’re crawling into my bed, I should get something out of it.” He says, and Stiles knows better than to get his hopes up, but that sounds sort of flirty to him. He ignores it, because hot firefighters with ridiculous arms and a smile that makes their eyes crinkle at the corners don’t like Stiles.

“I’m really sorry about this.” He says, and Derek shrugs.

“I’m getting used to it. Breakfast?”

Stiles stays for breakfast.

**.five**

The fifth time it happens, neither Stiles nor Derek bother doing anything about it. Derek comes in from a late shift, covered in ash and the stench of fire, showers, and crawls into bed, wrapping himself around Stiles. He won’t admit how much he likes it, or that he’s starting to need it as much as Stiles needs to climb into his bed for no apparent reason.

When he wakes up, Stiles is gone.

**and one time stiles accidentally set something on fire…**

(Stiles would like the record to show that this isn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that popcorn could catch on fire inside the bag?)

Stiles is up late, working on his senior thesis, when he decides he needs some popcorn. Mostly because he can shove it into his mouth easily and he’s out of chips. So he pops the bag into the microwave and wanders off to take a shower while it cooks. He’s shampooing his hair and belting out a very heartfelt rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” when he smells smoke. He jumps out of the shower, slipping and sliding on the wet tile while he wraps a towel around his waist.

In the kitchen, his microwave has gone up in flames.

“Fuck!” Stiles curses, sliding into the living room to dial 911.

When the firefighters are on their way, he sort of stands in his kitchen dumbly watching the flames lick higher, uncertain of what he should do. He falls into a sort of reverie, watching the wall crackle and the paint peel, until he hears a panicked “Stiles?”

Stiles turns, and there’s Derek, decked out in his firefighter outfit, mask pushed above his face. “Oh, hey.” Stiles says weakly. “My microwave doesn’t like popcorn.” He adds, and suddenly Derek is lifting him up and carrying him out of the apartment while other firefighters stream in.

“You idiot.” Derek says, sitting him on the couch in his own apartment. Stiles blinks, looking around, then looks down and realizes something important: he’s in Derek’s apartment, wearing only a towel.

“Um. I need pants?” He says awkwardly, and Derek makes a sort of growling noise in his throat, and suddenly he’s on Stiles, kissing him. It should be awkward, because Derek is sort of kneeling over him in stupidly heavy firefighter gear and his apartment is on fire, but it’s perfect. Derek’s stubble rasps against his face, and Stiles makes a little noise when Derek pulls away.

The soft expression of Derek’s face isn’t something Stiles knows how to deal with.

“When we got the call – I thought you were going to be seriously hurt.” Derek admits, sitting on the couch beside Stiles. “I completely freaked.” Stiles is grinning, and Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t get a big head – “  
“You like me!” Stiles crows, clambering into Derek’s lap with abandon. “The whole time, you liked me! You weren’t annoyed I was crawling into your bed at all, you want to keep me.” He says, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“Did the cuddling and the breakfast not clue you in?” Derek asks, folding his arms and looking adorably embarrassed. Stiles shrugs.

“I was just embarrassed I kept climbing into your bed.” He says, and Derek unfolds his arms, smiling.

“Idiot.”

“Your idiot!” Stiles crows, peppering Derek’s face with kisses. It’s worth it for the bright red flush that spreads over his stubbled cheeks, and if Stiles has a flush to match it when one of the other firefighters comes in ten minutes later to tell them it’s safe and finds them making out, well. That’s worth it too.

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from my [tumblr.](http://stileshaale.tumblr.com)


End file.
